


so keep on kissing my mouth

by underwaternow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Sex, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaternow/pseuds/underwaternow
Summary: five times gabe and tyson get interrupted by their teammates + one time they don't





	so keep on kissing my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry. thank you to britta for suggesting i use the five things format, giving this fic some direction, and contributing a lot of the little details! anything more and i would've had to list you as a co-author. title is from "your song" by rita ora.

**one**

Avs PR arranges a scavenger hunt, team bonding during rookie training camp, and Gabe is excited. He considers it his responsibility as the captain to take it seriously, but either way, he’s looking forward to it. They get to wander around downtown Denver, checking out landmarks and learning about the history of the city, and it seems like a great way to welcome the new crop of guys to Colorado. Tyson complains the whole way downtown, face pinched and arms crossed over his chest, and when Gabe pulls into a spot and shifts into park, he’s had just about enough.

“Tys,” he says, cutting through a diatribe about all the things Tyson would rather do than this, which apparently includes ‘listen to ABBA on loop for 24 hours’ and ‘go to IKEA with you every Saturday for the next month.’ Tyson is so rude, seriously, Gabe doesn’t know why he’s dating him. “You’re being dramatic, this is going to be fun.”

“It’s not,” Tyson says. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have just gone to a baseball game like last year.”

“They don’t have the budget for your hot dog consumption,” Gabe says. “Fine. Let’s make it fun.” From the way Tyson unfolds his arms, glances over out of the corner of his eye, looking interested, Gabe can tell he knows exactly what kind of fun Gabe has in mind.

“You be a team captain too,” Gabe says. “Whoever’s team gets more points wins.”

“What would I win?” Tyson asks quickly.

“Bragging rights, obviously,” Gabe says. Tyson slumps against the window, eyes closed, and makes a loud snoring noise. “I’m not _finished_ , Tyson, God.” He thinks for a minute and then smirks. “The team captains are called Quest Masters - ”

“Did you Google this dumb shit?” Tyson demands. Gabe maybe Googled, but that’s neither here nor there. “You are such a nerd, I swear to God.”

“Whoever wins,” Gabe says loudly, “gets to be called Quest Master in bed by the loser for a whole week.”

Tyson’s ears turn red. Gabe waits, still smirking.

“Okay,” Tyson says after considering it for a minute, turning in his seat and locking eyes with Gabe. “Done. And you have to say it _seriously_ , not as a joke the whole time.”

“Obviously,” Gabe says. “I’m offended you even needed to clarify.”

“Fine,” Tyson says, lifting his chin defiantly. “Hope you’re ready for this.”

“Oh, bring it on, please,” Gabe says, grinning. Tyson sticks his hand out and they shake on it, and then Gabe leans in and they kiss on it, too, for good measure, Tyson’s tongue sliding over Gabe’s bottom lip, Gabe bringing his free hand up to run his thumb over Tyson’s cheekbone. It goes on longer than it probably should in a parking garage downtown, even if his car’s windows are tinted, but Tyson is panting against Gabe’s mouth and Gabe has never been good at saying no to him.

Then someone knocks on the driver’s side window and Gabe about jumps out of his skin as they pull apart. Tyson’s face is flushed, eyes wide, and he looks over Gabe’s shoulder and then exhales loudly.

“It’s Nate.”

Gabe arranges his features into an appropriate, not turned on, not annoyed expression, turns around and pops the door open. “Hi, Nate.”

“Can you guys not go five minutes without sticking your tongues down each other’s throats?” Nate asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “We’re in public. The rookies are here.”

“They’re older than you are,” Tyson shoots back, getting out of the car.

“They are _not_ ,” Nate says.

“Kerfy and Compher are,” Tyson says, smugly, and then ducks as Nate tries to put him in a headlock. “Get away from me, you can’t get mad at me for telling the truth.”

“Watch me,” Nate says, and Gabe just follows along behind them as they keep bickering. By the time they get to the Capitol building to wait for the rest of the group, they’re thick as thieves again, Nate’s arm wrapped around Tyson’s shoulders.

“Nate’s on my team,” Tyson announces as soon as everyone is there. Gabe rolls his eyes, because of course. “I saw that, _Gabriel_.”

“You’re not allowed to cheat,” Gabe tells him. Tyson just grins at him smugly, which almost certainly means he will cheat. Fine. Gabe can deal with that. Gabe will play the game correctly and still beat him, and then they’ll see who’s the smug one.

They break into teams and head off, Tyson and Nate literally sprinting down the sidewalk without waiting for Yak, Compher, and Nieto, and Gabe shakes his head before turning to his group.

“Okay, so, we’re going to win,” he tells them. “We’re definitely going to beat Tyson’s team.” EJ and Mikko are laughing at him behind their hands, Gabe is pretty sure. He ignores them in favor of team bonding and his duties as the captain. “Want to read the first clue for us, Kerfy?”

-

When they reconvene at the Capitol three hours later, Tyson looks sweaty and triumphant, and as they all gather in a semicircle to film the reveal of who won for Avs 360, Gabe has a brief moment of nervousness. He feels pretty good about their chances; Bernier and Kerfy were both weirdly good at solving the puzzles, and they were the first team back, but Gabe also knows Tyson will have done everything possible to win. Tyson makes eye contact with him from across the group and smirks.

“Okay,” Lauren says, clapping her hands. “Patrik, you’re up first - how’d you guys do?”

Nemeth announces that his team has 26 points, and Gabe smiles indulgently and claps along with everyone else. Not even close. He can appreciate the effort, however.

“Tyson?” Lauren asks.

Tyson eyes Gabe. “We have… 31 points.”

Gabe lets the smile spread across his face. Winner winner. Tyson’s shoulders slump.

“Gabe, for the win - can you beat that?”

“I can, Lauren,” Gabe says, in his most captainly voice. Tyson’s face is so red; Gabe loves this. “My team has 33 points.”

“Hey, no, you have to check everyone’s scores to make sure he’s not lying,” Nate says as the other groups groan in defeat and Tyson kicks a clump of grass. Gabe mostly tunes out Lauren assuring Nate that she has access to the scores to confirm them as he congratulates his team on a well-deserved victory and looks across the group at Tyson again. Tyson sees him and glares, makes a face. Gabe really hopes the cameras got it.

-

“I hate you,” Tyson tells him once they’re back at Gabe’s car. “So much.”

“Liar,” Gabe says, grinning and leaning across the gearshift to insert himself in Tyson’s space. He smells like sweat and laundry soap and something that Gabe can never quite pinpoint, a warm, uniquely Tyson smell that lingers on his bedsheets.

“I’m not lying,” Tyson mutters before kissing Gabe, hard, one hand coming up to tangle into Gabe’s hair. Gabe lets his lips part against Tyson’s, bites at his bottom lip and slides his tongue into Tyson’s mouth and really goes for it. When they break apart a few minutes later, Tyson breathing heavily against Gabe’s cheek, Gabe can’t resist smugly reminding him of their agreement.

“I think you meant ‘I’m not lying, _Quest Master_.’”

“I’m not fucking - we’re not in bed,” Tyson says, as if he’s going to get out of this on such a stupid technicality. Gabe just looks at him, eyes lowered, reaches over and palms his dick through his jeans. Tyson’s breath comes out in a gasp.

“You sure?” Gabe asks, unbuttoning his jeans, dragging the zipper down as slow as he possibly can. Tyson’s pupils are already completely blown out, and he’s biting his lip, and what Gabe would ideally like to do is get Tyson spread out on his back underneath him, really take his time making Tyson come undone, drag the stupid accolades that Gabe totally earned out of him if it’s the last thing he does, but - they’re in his car, in public, and they’re supposed to be headed to team dinner. He settles for shoving his hand inside Tyson’s boxer briefs, wrapping his fingers firmly around his dick and enjoying the way Tyson’s throat moves as he groans, low and needy.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Tyson gets out as Gabe moves his hand, barely. “I swear to God, Gabe, you’re - ” and Gabe twists his wrist and whatever complaint Tyson was about to make dies on his lips.

“I’m what?” Gabe asks innocently, swiping his thumb over the head of Tyson’s dick, making him shudder and twitch his hips up. Tyson doesn’t say anything, just draws his eyebrows together and his mouth falls open, and Gabe can’t help himself; he leans in again, kisses Tyson, grips him a little tighter and swallows up Tyson’s resulting groan.

Tyson has both hands shoved in Gabe’s hair, dragging his nails over Gabe’s scalp, and Gabe can tell he’s right fucking there when Gabe cracks one eye open and suddenly becomes aware of movement outside the car. He opens his other eye and slowly turns his head to look out the passenger side window.

Josty awkwardly waves. Compher is determinedly not making eye contact with him; he’s pretty sure Kerfy looks impressed.

“What’re you fucking doing,” Tyson says, bitchily, as Gabe lets go of his dick. “Gabe, what the _fuck_ , if this is some new kink thing - ”

“Sorry,” Gabe tells him. “Company.” Tyson’s eyes fly open; he sees their audience and groans loudly, lets his head thud back against the seat. Gabe thoughtfully tucks his dick back in his pants and pats it in apology before rolling down the window.

“Hi,” Gabe says, striving for cheerful and normal, rather than ‘welcome to the Colorado Avalanche, your captain was definitely just jerking off one of your other teammates in a parking garage.’ He’s not sure how successful he is. It doesn’t help that Tyson is breathing loudly through his nose next to him.

“Not to interrupt,” Kerfy starts, and yeah, he definitely looks impressed. Gabe likes him. “We saw that you were still here and thought maybe something was wrong, but - ”

“Clearly not,” Josty cuts in quickly. Compher coughs, still looking away as if there’s something else captivating happening in this same parking garage. “Uh. We’ll - go.”

“Right behind you,” Gabe tells them. His voice cracks a little and he clears his throat. “Looking forward to dinner.”

Tyson makes an angry, strangled noise. Gabe tries not to wince. He thinks he might have to forfeit the bet this time.

 

 

**two**

“Here you go,” Tyson says, handing Gabe a beer. He settles himself back between Gabe’s legs on the couch, leans against Gabe’s chest and takes a sip from his own drink. His hair is tickling Gabe’s neck.

“Thanks,” Gabe says, trying to shift his hips imperceptibly away from Tyson’s ass. They’ve been at Nate’s all day, hanging out and watching TV and at some point Tyson decided to lie on him, which is fine, but means Gabe has really had to focus on not getting turned on and sticking his dick into Tyson’s back. At least they’re watching The Pacific; there’s a lot of war and blood to distract him. Not that World War II was a good thing. It was definitely bad.

“What about me?” Nate asks from the floor. “God, I have to be on the floor _and_ you don’t get me drinks? What the hell.” Gabe would like the record to state that he did not kick Nate off his own couch and in fact would be fine with lying on the floor for awhile. Tyson can cuddle Nate, and Gabe can get a breather from being helplessly turned on.

“You still have two,” Tyson informs him, gesturing to the beers Nate lined up on the coffee table with his foot.

“Oh,” Nate says. “Okay.” He hits play again. Tyson shifts in Gabe’s lap and snuggles closer, literally wiggling his entire body, and Gabe has to briefly close his eyes and think about spiders and famine and open sores.

“You okay?” Tyson asks a few minutes later, and Gabe realizes how tense he is.

“Yeah,” he says, consciously trying to relax. Approximately one muscle in his neck unclenches. “Definitely.”

“Jeez, are you sure?” Tyson turns his head so that his lips are about two inches away from Gabe’s. His mouth is wet and pink; he’s been drinking grape juice mixed with white wine that he found in the back of Nate’s fridge all afternoon, and his breath smells sweet. “You look like you’re about to die.”

“No, I’m fine,” Gabe says. He can do this. He is an adult and is capable of watching TV with a lapful of Tyson for a few hours without coming unglued. Probably.

From the floor, Nate shushes them loudly.

“Here,” Tyson murmurs, shifting again to rest his head against Gabe’s shoulder. “Relax.” And then - he starts rubbing his fingertips in small circles on Gabe’s chest. Gabe can feel him breathing, every movement from Tyson vibrating through his own body, and this is literally the least relaxed he’s ever been in his life. Tyson shifts in his lap again, makes a content humming noise, and that’s it.

“I have to - bathroom,” Gabe says shrilly, and almost dumps Tyson on the floor as he gets up and books it out of the room. He goes to the bathroom, splashes some water on his face and seriously considers jerking off, decides against it - he’d never be able to look Nate in the eyes again - and is pacing up and down the hallway when Tyson comes around the corner.

“Are you sick or something?”

“Or something,” Gabe says. Tyson eyes him for a second and a smile creeps across his face.

“Are you _turned on_?”

“You have been all over me for the last three hours!” Gabe says indignantly, because this is at least half Tyson’s fault. He’ll take responsibility for his own body, but Tyson should fucking know better, know what he does to Gabe by this point.

“I was snuggling you,” Tyson says, looking like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Snuggling my dick with your ass,” Gabe tells him, and then Tyson does laugh, crowds into Gabe’s space and opens the door behind him and pushes him into the guest bedroom.

“I knew you were just horny as soon as you left,” Tyson says, low. “Your voice did that thing it does whenever you’re turned on but are trying to pretend you aren’t.”

“What? I don’t do that,” Gabe says. His voice is still shrill. “Shut up.”

“You literally just did it again,” Tyson tells him, and kisses him. His mouth is hot and he tastes like grape juice and Gabe just grabs him by the waist and holds on and lets himself be kissed. Tyson pushes him down on the bed and shoves a thigh between Gabe’s, pressing right up against his dick, and Gabe moans. He can’t help it.

“God, you’re so - ” Tyson starts, and then he just stops and shoves Gabe’s sweats off, yanks his own pants down around his thighs and spits into his hand and takes hold of both their dicks in one hand.

“Fuck,” Gabe hisses, arching up into it helplessly. He feels like his whole body is charged, sparks crackling on the surface of his skin, and Tyson keeps kissing him, open-mouthed and wet and deep, the drag of his hand just this side of too slow.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Tyson tells him, voice rough in Gabe’s ear when Gabe starts moving his hips against Tyson’s hand. “Shit, yeah, Gabe, you - ”

The bedroom door bangs open and Nate says, furiously, “What the fuck, what are you two _doing_?”

That seems like a stupid question to Gabe. It’s got to be pretty obvious what they’re doing. Tyson takes his hand off Gabe’s dick and pulls his sweats back up most of the way, and Gabe wants to scream. He loves Nate, but right now he wishes Nate would fall into a ditch.

“Sorry,” Tyson says, wholly unapologetically. “Gabe was, ah - he needed me.”

“This is my mom’s room, dude!” Nate says.

“This is the guest room,” Tyson corrects him, wiping his hand off on his shirt and standing up. “Calm down.”

“My mom sleeps in here!” Nate says. “You’re getting me a new duvet!”

“I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned but I’m not buying you a new one,” Tyson says. “We didn’t even come.”

“I hate you, I swear to God,” Nate says, and they both leave the room. Gabe hears Tyson say something, start laughing, and Nate yelling at him to fuck off, and he flops an arm over his eyes and lies there and hates his life.

And he’s still fucking horny.

 

 

**three**

“That was fucking incredible,” Gabe pants against Tyson’s mouth, his hands gripping Tyson’s biceps as he pushes him up against the wall. They collide with a table and something clatters onto the floor; Gabe can’t give a shit right now. “That fucking shot, holy shit - ”

“Uh huh,” Tyson says, throwing his head back to let Gabe get his mouth on the tendons in his neck. “I was just - I had the shot, and it - _fuck_ , Gabe - it went in for me, and - ”

“I’ll show you went in,” Gabe says, absolutely nonsensically, getting his hands under Tyson’s jersey. They’re both sweaty and gross; Tyson barely made it off the ice after his first star interview with Lauren before Gabe had asked, strained and polite, if he could borrow him for “just a quick personal matter.” EJ had overheard and given him a disgusted look, but EJ wasn’t the one who watched his boyfriend - or whatever, friend he fucks exclusively, they haven’t talked labels but it’s been five months and Gabe is pretty sure he’s allowed to call Tyson his boyfriend - score an absolute _beauty_ of a game-winner. EJ should be congratulating Gabe for keeping it in his pants an entire ten minutes after Tyson’s goal, frankly.

“Fuck,” Tyson is saying now, hissing against Gabe’s neck as Gabe starts fumbling with his pants. Why do they wear so many fucking clothes to play hockey, Jesus fucking Christ. “Gabe - shit - here?”

“It’s here or the showers,” Gabe says honestly, getting the stupid pants off and being confronted with another layer. If he doesn’t get to Tyson’s dick in the next two seconds he thinks he might explode. “I’m just saying, I think our teammates would prefer here.”

“We could go home,” Tyson manages. “To your place, I mean.”

“Whatever,” Gabe says, because seriously. No. Tyson chokes out a laugh as Gabe yanks the last of his gear down his thighs and gets a hand on his dick, finally, thank you Jesus. He strokes Tyson a few times, bracing himself against the wall with his free hand, leaning back in and kissing Tyson sloppy and firm as Tyson runs his fingers through the hair at the back of Gabe’s neck. It’s making Gabe feel all tingly, and he’s been half hard for too long, but this - it’s about Tyson, he’s determined. Tyson deserves it.

Tyson swears when Gabe drops to his knees, curls his hand loosely around the back of Gabe’s neck and goes pliant as Gabe presses Tyson’s hips against the wall with both hands and takes him down in one motion. He pulls at Gabe’s hair with his other hand when Gabe swallows around his dick, and his breath catches when Gabe pulls most of the way off, uses his tongue. It’s silent in the lounge; all Gabe can hear is the slick sounds of his own mouth and Tyson’s harsh, ragged breathing, and then -

A high-pitched shriek. Gabe’s first thought is, holy shit, whose wife is he going to have to apologize to?

“Get out of here, Dutch,” Tyson says, sounding pissed, pushing Gabe’s shoulders back enough that his dick slides out of Gabe’s mouth, and Gabe wants to slam his own face into the wall. What a fucking buzzkill. Why Duchene can’t use the locker room like a normal, non-shitty person is absolutely fucking beyond Gabe.

“You get out of here,” Duchene says, sounding panicked. Gabe rolls his eyes, glances up at Tyson and immediately looks away again because Tyson is red-faced, his chest heaving, and it’s just. A lot. He looks fucking good, and possibly Gabe’s own dick is springing back to life. “This is - this is my space!”

“This is the player’s lounge,” Tyson snaps. “You have a stall in the locker room just like everyone else.”

“It’s a public area!” Duchene retorts. “This is - so inappropriate, I - ”

“Oh, go tell someone who cares,” Tyson says. “Gabe, give me my pants.” Gabe hands them over and stands up, assesses his own situation and thinks about the cold tub for a minute before he turns around. Duchene is standing there with one hand over his eyes like he might go blind if he sees anything. Honestly.

“Okay! It’s safe! Nothing to see here,” Tyson says, sarcastically, once he gets his pants back on. Duchene drops his hand, and his gaze immediately falls to the floor just to Gabe’s right. Gabe follows his line of sight and sees a pair of ugly Oakley wraparound sunglasses on the floor by the table, one of the earpieces broken off. He suddenly vividly remembers knocking into the table earlier.

“You guys! You broke my sunglasses!”

 

 

**four**

It’s 2 AM, according to Gabe’s iPad, which is still on East Coast time. The plane is dark and quiet, most people sleeping, but he can’t - too excited to be going home, too keyed up from the game and the events of the day, a combination of it all. Tyson is next to him, passed out under a blanket; as soon as the plane was airborne he had flipped the armrest between their seats up so he could fully lean on Gabe. “It’s a more comfortable sleep,” he had explained, sliding his headphones on, when Gabe gave him a look. “I need my rest, Gabe.” Gabe would also like to rest, but that’s not happening anyway, so he’s letting Tyson get away with it. Gabe is a little bit of a sucker.

The plane bumps in the air then, jostling Tyson’s head on Gabe’s shoulder, and Tyson jerks awake, sits upright and looks around at Gabe. His eyes are bleary.

“Are we there?” he asks, turning to look out the window. “Is this Sweden?”

“Not yet,” Gabe tells him, an absolute tidal wave of genuine affection threatening to crack his ribcage open. “It’s another five hours, maybe. You can go back to sleep.”

Tyson considers it, then shakes his head. “No, now I’m awake. Entertain me. Hey, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“My entire left side was numb because my boyfriend was leaning on it,” Gabe says dryly, not missing the way Tyson grins, just a little, when he says _boyfriend_.

“Personal problem, Gabe.”

They sit there quietly for a few minutes, Tyson leaning back into Gabe’s side - which is actually really nice, he wasn’t numb at all, and it’s a lot colder in the cabin without Tyson’s body heat draped across him - and then Tyson elbows him.

“Hey. Wanna go make out in the bathroom?”

Gabe pretends to consider it. Tyson is already unbuckling his seat belt. “You go, yeah, I’ll meet you there in a few.”

“Just come with me,” Tyson says impatiently like he wasn’t fully asleep five minutes ago. Sometimes Gabe marvels at how weird and wonderful he is. “Nobody will notice, they’re sleeping.”

Gabe glances around; he doubts that everyone is sleeping, but whatever. Tyson is fidgeting, tapping his fingers against his leg, and looking at Gabe with dark eyes, and that alone is enough to get Gabe going a little, want curling in his stomach. He should maybe be embarrassed about that, but - he’s not. It’s Tyson.

They squeeze carefully into the bathroom, which is bigger than the lavatories on commercial jets but not by much, and Tyson perches on the sink and wraps his arms around Gabe’s neck, lets Gabe crowd in between his thighs to get as close as possible. Tyson kisses him slowly, gently swiping his tongue over Gabe’s bottom lip and into his mouth; they’re doing this just to kiss each other, rather than as a prelude to something else, and it’s really nice. Gabe thinks vaguely they should do it more often.

“Hey,” Tyson says after a few minutes, once it’s started to heat up and Gabe has both hands inside Tyson’s sweatshirt. “Do we have enough room to - ”

“I don’t know, fuck, probably,” Gabe says. “Or just - here - ” and he shifts to press his thigh in tight against Tyson’s dick, pulling him closer, to the very edge of the counter. Tyson rocks his hips once, experimentally, and groans.

“Yeah, good, that’s - ” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just keeps moving his hips and goes back to kissing Gabe’s neck, which is probably going to leave visible marks but feels too good to make him stop doing, and Gabe does what he can to find some friction on Tyson’s thigh. Tyson catches on to what he’s trying to do, lifts his hips up enough for Gabe to get a hand under one of his thighs and position it how he needs, and then they’re both moving against each other helplessly. Gabe can’t tell which noises are from him and which are from Tyson.

Gabe is literally maybe ten seconds away from coming when someone knocks on the bathroom door. Tyson curses under his breath.

“Is that you, Tyson?” Gabe immediately recognizes Mikko’s voice. “Weird, I swear I saw _Gabe_ go in there.”

“Shut up,” Gabe snaps through the door.

“Hi, Gabe,” Mikko says, sounding incredibly smug. “Don’t mind me. I actually need to use the bathroom for its intended purpose, but by all means, keep - ”

“Shut up, Rants,” Tyson says, taking an extremely deep breath through his nose before gently pushing Gabe back and sliding off the counter. Gabe briefly considers screaming.

Mikko is leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded over his chest, and his face lights up with smug glee when Tyson slides the door open. “Hi, guys,” he says, beaming. “What’s, uh… up?”

“Bathroom’s all yours,” Tyson says in a much more dignified voice than Gabe could muster right now, and calmly heads back to their seats.

“You okay there, Gabe?” Mikko asks. He’s practically giddy.

“No,” Gabe says, as crabbily as possible, and then follows Tyson as fast as he can on a moving plane and tries not to pout once he’s back in his seat.

“Sorry,” Tyson whispers. “Oops.” Gabe slouches down in his seat and leans against Tyson’s shoulder, frowning furiously at the latch for his tray table.

“At least we didn’t come in our pants,” Tyson continues, which - actually, that’s a decent point. Gabe acknowledges it with a tilt of his head, and then leans up and kisses Tyson softly, just once. When he leans back, Tyson smiles at him, a small, private thing only for Gabe.

“Fine, but your ass is mine tonight,” Gabe says, unable to not smile back at him. “Or tomorrow. Whenever it is that we’ll have privacy and a bed.”

The smile on Tyson’s face gets bigger. “I mean, obviously.”

 

 

**five**

Gabe isn’t hiding. Okay, yes, he’s sitting in the photo booth, the curtain drawn, hoping no one will spot him and he can have two or three minutes to himself before the gala starts and he has to be On, but that isn’t hiding. Gabe likes the gala; he really does, likes getting to meet fans and play blackjack and watch Tyson repeatedly make his way through the food with different people while pretending with each of them that it’s his first time around, but it’s been a long day and he’s tired. He doesn’t really want to have to be charming tonight. He wants to go home with Tyson and put on his rattiest sweatpants and fall asleep on the couch while they watch bad TV. Maybe they’d even order Chinese food.

“Hey,” Tyson says suddenly, appearing out of nowhere as if Gabe thinking his name had summoned him, squeezing into the booth next to him. “You’re hiding.”

“I’m not,” Gabe says, a little forlornly. “I’m just tired.”

Tyson leans into him, laces their fingers together and rests his chin on Gabe’s shoulder for a few minutes. Then he says, “Wanna play a game?”

Gabe very slowly turns his head to look at Tyson. “What _kind_ of game?”

“It’s a photo booth challenge,” Tyson says.

“Elaborate,” Gabe says.

“You have to keep a straight face for the pictures while I blow you,” Tyson says, leering a little.

Gabe feels his ears turn red. “We are at a _fan event_ , Tyson, I swear to - ”

“Don’t get your underwear in a bunch,” Tyson says, holding up both his hands. “No one’s here yet, not even most of the guys. They won’t let people in for almost 40 minutes, but if you think you can’t do it…”

God damn it. Gabe makes purposeful eye contact with him, leans over and presses the button to start the camera and sits back, knees wide, and Tyson smirks and folds himself onto the floor. He presses a hand against Gabe’s dick before unzipping his pants and taking him out, and then he grabs at Gabe’s tie with his free hand, tugs Gabe toward him until their mouths meet. Gabe is vaguely aware of the camera flashing as he kisses Tyson, open-mouthed, as Tyson jerks him off slowly a few times.

By the time Tyson stops kissing him, lets go of his tie and leans down to wrap his lips around the head of Gabe’s dick, Gabe has failed the challenge at least five times, he’s pretty sure. Tyson breathes through his nose and eases down until Gabe’s dick hits the back of his throat, and then he fucking _winks_ at Gabe and swallows around him, and Gabe just about loses his mind. He is absolutely convinced the photobooth is actually going to fall apart. It cannot be that sturdy, for Christ’s sake.

Tyson bumps the button for the camera again with his elbow and casually uses his tongue in a way Gabe is positive he’s never done before. This is so unfair. He tangles his fingers in Tyson’s hair, tries not to pull on it when Tyson hums around his dick, takes a huge gasping breath.

The curtain flies open and EJ says, “ _Really_?”

Tyson pulls off his dick with a slick _pop_ and says, voice raspy, “Gabe, you lost, like, so many times.”

“Jesus Christ,” EJ says. “What is happening?”

Gabe puts his head in his hands for a brief moment. Tyson zips his pants back up for him and says “sorry, buddy” to his dick, which Gabe resolutely ignores.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be adults?” EJ says, as if he’s never been caught in a compromising position, the hypocrite. Gabe supposes none of those times were ever at a team event, for a team of which he is the captain, with a teammate, but the point stands.

“Gabe was sad,” Tyson says, as if that’s the only reason needed for public blowjobs.

“I wasn’t sad!” Gabe exclaims. “I just wanted a minute or two for myself before I have to be talkative and charming all night.”

Tyson shrugs at him as if to say _potato, potahto_. His hair is completely destroyed; Gabe takes a few seconds to admire it.

“I hope you’re planning to sanitize in here,” EJ says.

“Literally nothing unsanitary happened,” Tyson argues. “Nothing touched anything it shouldn’t have, it was mouth to dick contact only, are you going to make anyone who uses it all night sanitize it too?”

“Oh my God,” Gabe says.

EJ just looks at Tyson and shakes his head, like he can’t quite believe he’s a real person. Gabe can relate. Behind Tyson, the machine whirs and spits out the last strip of photographs.

“Please make sure you get all of those,” Gabe says as he gets out of the booth and awkwardly clasps his hands in front of his dick, tries to hide what’s still going on there.

“There are _photos_?” EJ asks.

Tyson scoops the pictures out of the machine, glances them over and smirks, and says, reasonably, “Of course there are photos. We’re in a photo booth.”

“Hmm,” EJ says, and then reaches over and takes them out of Tyson’s hands.

“Hey!” Tyson squawks. “Give me those!”

EJ ignores him, holding the photos up high enough that Tyson can’t grab them back, which would make Gabe laugh if the photos weren’t all of him.

“Gabe, take them back,” Tyson demands.

“No can do,” Gabe tells him. The camera crews have set up for the night; he’s not about to run the risk of being caught on video with a boner. Tyson huffs, but the boner is mostly his fault, so Gabe doesn’t sympathize.

“I’ll give them back,” EJ says, perusing them, “if - wow, Gabe, you make really unattractive sex faces - ”

“I do not,” Gabe says at the same time Tyson says, “He does not.”

EJ ignores them both. “ - if you promise to stop hooking up in public.”

“That’s literally never going to happen,” Tyson says. “Not _ever_? Come on.”

“Fine. At team events, including but not limited to all games, travel, and anything that happens at Pepsi Center. Final offer.” EJ looks at the last strip of photos and starts laughing. Gabe doesn’t want to know.

“Sure, whatever, give them back,” Tyson says, shoving his hand in EJ’s face.

“And - ” EJ pauses, still holding the pictures above his head. “You both have to go to the track with me.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Gabe says.

“God, are you secretly a 70 year old man?” Tyson asks EJ. “Who else goes to the _racetrack_?”

“That’s my offer,” EJ says smugly. “I’m happy to keep these if you don’t want to go.”

“Whatever,” Tyson says, rolling his eyes at Gabe. “Okay, we’ll go.”

EJ starts to hand them back, but then stops. “You guys can’t hook up at the track either.”

“You have so many rules,” Tyson says, lunging for the photos and just managing to snag them back. “‘No hooking up at team events, no hooking up at the track, no having any fun ever.’ God.”

“Yeah, I’m unreasonable,” EJ says dryly, and wanders off, now that he’s done torturing them.

“Good thing we got them back, eh?” Tyson says, clapping Gabe on the shoulder. He glances over them again and then tucks them into the breast pocket of his jacket. “They’re going on my fridge. We definitely aren’t going to the track, by the way, he’s delusional if he really thinks that’s happening.”

Gabe has to fight to keep from grinning. He feels a lot better, now, and there are probably too many people around to kiss Tyson but he looks at him and thinks, _thank you_ and _you’re the absolute best_ and from the way Tyson smiles back at him, Gabe thinks he gets it.

 

 

**+**

The sun is streaming through the crack in the blinds when Gabe blinks awake slowly. Tyson is pressed up close behind him, arm wrapped loosely around his middle, and Gabe can feel him breathing. He smiles to himself, then yawns and stretches and bumps against Tyson’s dick that’s poking into his back. Tyson’s arm tightens around him.

“Are you awake?” Gabe asks.

“Yes,” Tyson mumbles. “Do that again.”

Gabe does, and then rolls over to face Tyson and kisses him. “Good morning.”

“Not if you stop,” Tyson says.

“Demanding,” Gabe says, kisses him again and sneaks his hand between them to palm Tyson’s dick through his sweats.

“Fuck you,” Tyson says, yawning into his pillow and then inhaling sharply as Gabe slips his hand inside Tyson’s sweats, curls his fingers loosely around him.

“That was last night,” Gabe says. He can feel it a little when he moves, a pleasant ache. Tyson smirks at him and reaches between them too, slides his hand over Gabe’s dick and leans in and bites at Gabe’s jaw, hard.

“Ow,” Gabe says.

“I’m trying to be sexy!” Tyson says. “Usually you’re into that.”

“Not when you just _bite me_ , Tyson,” Gabe says, tightening his grip on Tyson’s dick. “Like, work up to the biting. Kiss me first, Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Tyson says. “I forgot you’re Mr. Romance.” But he does kiss Gabe, first on his jaw where he had bitten and then on Gabe’s lips, and Gabe sighs against his mouth.

“You - you love it,” he mumbles, tripping over the words as Tyson moves his hand over Gabe’s dick with a little more purpose.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, quiet. “I love you, actually.”

Gabe pulls back and looks at him. Tyson’s face is calm, only slightly flushed, and his eyes are bright. “I - yeah?”

“I mean, you’re okay,” Tyson says, shrugging, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “You know. I guess I like you a little.”

Gabe kisses him, hard, curls his tongue into Tyson’s mouth and jerks him off with rough, quick strokes until he’s panting against Gabe’s mouth and coming. Gabe wipes his hand off on the sheet and tangles his fingers in Tyson’s hair and kisses him again, almost chastely, on the lips. “I love you too. Can you get me off now, please?”

“Now who’s being demanding?” Tyson asks, but he’s grinning, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Gabe is grinning back. Tyson kisses him, kisses his neck, wraps his hand around Gabe’s dick again and strokes him slow until Gabe is arching off the bed with it, shaking apart and cursing against Tyson’s hair as he comes.

“That’s good,” Tyson says against his ear. “You’re good.” He wipes his hand off on Gabe’s stomach and just grins when Gabe makes an affronted noise. “Whatever, we’ll go shower soon and you’ll be fine, don’t glare at me. You love me.”

“I’m taking that back,” Gabe tells him, not meaning it for one second, and then rolls over and pushes Tyson down into the pillows and kisses him until neither of them can breathe.

“That’s okay,” Tyson says brightly when they come up for air. “I still love you.”

Gabe just grins back helplessly.

**Author's Note:**

> the scavenger hunt they do in part one is a real thing! you can read more about it [here](https://www.denver.org/event/amazing-scavenger-hunt-adventure-downtown-denver/48857/), if that's something you want to do for some reason. i also didn't make up the fact that one person on each team is called the quest master. that's very real.
> 
> duchene changing in the player's lounge instead of the locker room this year before he was traded was also a [real](https://twitter.com/mikechambers/status/908753971770163200) [thing](https://twitter.com/mikechambers/status/909833603684622336).


End file.
